Hayden’s Haven

by Cohen, Julie K.

  “Frank?” Mason called from the distance.

  A quick look at the landscape told Frank that the female had lured him beyond his zone—again. Ethan, his replacement, must have shown up only to panic and report Frank missing instead of searching the immediate area. The young shifter was eager to do well, but his instincts weren’t what they should be for a guard, not even close. Frank would have to take a firmer hand in his training or talk to Damien about re-assigning him.

  A howl sounded. Mason again, this time using his wolf to call further into the forest as he searched for Frank. Without the wind to carry Frank’s scent, Mason was sending up a call, counting on Frank to answer. Mason didn’t alarm easily, which meant he was more concerned than usual if he was howling. The enforcer was still on the proper side of the border, unlike Frank.

  Howling from Drake’s side of the border was risky, but if Frank didn’t answer Mason soon, the enforcer would cross over, searching for him. Frank forced himself to turn around and head back. Maybe by the time he reached Mason, Frank would figure out what to tell him, something not as embarrassing as admitting he had let some damn female lure him over the border. Frank could admit that to anyone except Mason. Frank had scorned Mason about falling for the very same tactic nearly six years ago when Mason was a new guard.

  Before Frank reached the border, Mason leapt into his path, forcing him to stop short. “You okay?” Mason asked as soon as he shifted to human form. A second later, Mason caught the female’s scent in the wind and his concern turned into a grin.

  “I don’t care that you outrank me, Mason,” Frank said, shoving his way past the younger shifter. “I can still take you down with one arm tied behind my back.”

  Fortunately, Mason didn’t say anything. While Mason had risen in rank during those five years Frank had been in prison, Frank didn’t begrudge him his appointment as the pack’s enforcer while Callen helped Hayden with Drake’s pack. Mason had worked hard, had good instincts—generally—and was fair-minded. Much like Callen. While most males could be trained to be guards, very few had the right personality to handle the demands and challenges of being an enforcer.

  “Damien offered you the position,” Mason said as he fell in step next to Frank.

  “Not my thing. I prefer to be outside, in the fresh air.”

  Mason fell silent.

  Frank knew the younger shifter still blamed himself for what had happened six years ago. Frank wasn’t going to rehash this discussion. He didn’t blame Mason or Takara for his stint in prison. It was ancient history at this point. Mostly. The point was, Frank did what he needed to do to save Takara and the baby, to save all of them. Frank had no regrets.

  “Peach pie,” Frank said. “And corn. No more brussels sprouts.”

  Frank had a standing dinner invitation at Mason’s house. He had been feeling out of sorts lately and had been blowing off Sunday dinners with them. While he could do without Mason looking at him with that guilty mug of his, Frank hadn’t seen Mason and Takara’s daughter in a while. He needed an hour or two of doing nothing but listening to the little chatterbox talk about school and friends. Maybe then he could forget about that female’s scent that clung to his soul like a noose around his neck.

  “Those are Frankie’s food preferences, not yours.”

  “Maybe.” Frank hid his smile, thinking of his god daughter.

  “You cater to her too much,” Mason added.

  “I enjoy making her smile, seeing her happy.”

  Mason washed a hand through his hair. “I get that, but—”

  “You can say no to me, Mason. She’s your daughter. You don’t owe me anything. Never have.”

  “It’s not that.”

  “Then what is it? This guilt you have… Get over it. And clear a spot at the table. I need to see a face that’s happy to see me.”

  “I’m happy to see you.”

  Frank cocked his head to the side and glared.

  “I’m just worried about you, Frank. You’re breaking all your own rules. Leaving your post, going miles deep into Drake’s territory without backup, without telling anyone. That’s not like you. Whoever that scent belongs to––”

  “You even mouth the words ‘honeytrap’ and I’m going to have to figure out a damn good excuse to tell Frankie why her dad came home with a broken nose tonight.”

  Mason side-stepped away from Frank.

  “Not enforcer behavior, Mason. Never show ‘em fear. Got it?”

  Mason moved closer. “I just don’t feel like getting my nose broken.”

  Frank stopped short, that same scent cloying at him. She had come through here. Mason caught the scent too. Frank motioned Mason to wrap around from the north while Frank headed east. Sooner or later, he would catch this female who was playing games with him, and when he did, he wasn’t going to go easy on her.

  * * *

  DELILAH

  Delilah knew she should stop procrastinating and breech the pack’s border by more than a few hundred feet, but she couldn’t afford another encounter today. The blood running down her forearm was reminder enough that she wasn’t invincible. From what she had learned in Devil’s Peak, the alphas in this region were the ‘kill and ask questions later’ type of males when it came to protecting their territory. Before she pushed any further in her hunt, she needed to be fully healed and rested.

  Escaping the lecherous white wolves five miles back had been difficult enough. Scratch that… she’d barely made it out of there and had the claw marks to prove it. Instead of going toward town, she had unintentionally headed deeper into the forest. It was as if her wolf were drawn in that direction, the direction of that delicious scent that had caught her notice only once. Hell, only once and she found herself wondering about a male she had no time for and likely no stomach for, not given what these males always wanted.

  Ignoring that scent, hard as it was, had become a necessity over the last few days as she tested the patrols of the other pack in the area, the one led by a silver wolf, Damien Black. Getting lax would land her in deep water, as it already had.

  At least she was close enough to one of her clothing stashes. She could get dressed before returning to Devil’s Peak. Walking into town naked was not something she cared to do ever again, especially during daylight hours.

  Ignoring the white wolves’ scent markings—for the third day in a row—hadn’t been the smartest decision of her life, but some risks were necessary. Okay, many risks were necessary if she was going to stay alive and accomplish her goals.

  Her mother had always accused her of being too daring for her own good. How many times had she warned her to think before acting? Too many, and yet playing by the rules hadn’t saved her mother. Those anti-shifter protesters had targeted her, just like the Wolf Shifter Suppressor Organization had targeted her family.

  Maybe if the government put some rules in place to protect shifters, gave them rights, Delilah would start playing by the rules. Until then, it was open season on the WSSO and anyone who helped them, including shifters. One by one, she would track down the humans at the WSSO, and their allies, and make them regret what they did to her family.

  Still in wolf form, Delilah limped along the cold ground, favoring her left foreleg. She’d never let herself be trapped again, denied the ability to run free in the fresh air, among the trees, like she was doing now. She loved this area. Colorado was so different from the southeastern U.S. This region was gorgeous and expansive, practically untouched by humans. A shifter could lose herself up here and never have to encounter another person, shifter or human.

  This wasn’t a time to get lost in dreams, about her newfound freedom or the intriguing scent of a male that she couldn’t push out of her mind. She needed to be more cautious about her every move. This morning had shown her that much, not to mention the past eighteen months. Being attacked by five wolves had left her shaken and in no condition to press forward, at least not until she healed. She certainly shouldn’t be wasting time with an u
nknown male.

  As she distributed most of her weight to three legs, favoring her left front leg, she tried to figure out what she could have done differently. While Delilah had speed on her side, the white wolves had known the terrain. Unfortunately, that would be a given anywhere she went. That was the problem with being a lone wolf. No home-field advantage. Ever.

  The white wolves had corralled her and then boxed her in a canyon. The bastards had thought she’d submit to them just because there were five of them. Baxter and Riley had thought the same back home before this whole mess had begun, but that had been her fault in part. She had let her guard down that night, trusting that her pack always had her back. Pack was the source of the problem more often than not. Pack couldn’t be trusted. Only family could be.

  At least she had clawed the hell out of the one white wolf before the other two had subdued her. The white wolves would have forced her to shift to human form, eventually. Clawing and biting her shoulder and arms had only been the start. The moment she shifted, it would have been over. They would have raped and then killed her, she was sure of it. There was a certain look in a male’s eye, a group mentality when two or more gathered. Fortunately, the black wolf had intervened. Yellow eyes had blazed, and he had torn into the leader of the group of the white wolves.

  The wolves pinning her down had released her immediately. The black wolf had shifted, and the dark-skinned man had ordered her to leave the territory, without asking who she was or why she was there. That was a good thing. He wouldn’t have let her go had he known the truth about her.

  Now that she was far away from the white wolves, Delilah shifted to human form to take a better look at her wounds. The claw marks traveled the length of her left arm, curving inward at her palm, which made bending her arm and hand painful. The damn shifter had sliced deep, going for maximum damage. The bastard had enjoyed inflicting pain.

  Delilah reached into the hollowed-out tree stump where she had stashed her clothes. After she pulled on her jeans, boots, and bra, she carefully threaded her wounded arm into the baggy, light grey sweatshirt. Her wolf would heal her in a day or two. She’d bench herself until then, or at least restrict her activities to town.

  She followed the border east, and then dipped south, back into white wolf territory. Her skin crawled simply being there, but it was the only way she had found that led to the state road that bisected the white wolves’ territory. She could hitchhike to Devil’s Peak from there.

  As Delilah entered the covered foot-bridge that spanned a narrow but deep gulch with a fast-moving river, that same enticing scent—the one she’d picked up several times along the border of the two packs—wrapped around her like a warm blanket. Strong and earthy, like cedar, yet fresh and clean like the raging rapids below the bridge, the strong dichotomy of the scent intrigued her when it should have put her on guard.

  The scent was too strong, too concentrated. She wasn’t alone.

  Delilah whirled about and kicked outward, catching the shifter in his middle. The kick had thrown him off balance long enough for her to sweep his legs. With a heavy thud, the shifter crashed to the wooden deck of the bridge.

  Delilah ignored the pain shooting down her arm. To baby her arm right now would put her life at risk. The shifter was enormous, broad and solidly built with hard, bulging muscles lining his arms and chest. She was surprised she’d managed to take him down. One things was certain, she wouldn’t get a second chance to escape if she didn’t follow through. Before the enormous shifter could rise, Delilah kicked again, hitting him squarely in the chest.

  The beast had anticipated her move and braced himself. Instead of going down, he caught her foot as he sprang to his feet, simultaneously pulling up and slamming her flat on her back.

  Her head hit the deck, hard, dazing her. He was dragging her now, into the shadows of the bridge, out of the sun, out of view, not that there was anyone around to help her.

  Hands of steel lifted her as if she weighed nothing and shoved her up against the inside of the bridge. With a single hand, he pinned her by her throat.

  “Who are you?” he asked, amber eyes drilling into her. His narrowed lips and clenched jaw told her she had royally pissed him off.

  “None of your business,” Delilah said, knowing the bite of her words would only make the situation worse, but she couldn’t help herself. She didn’t respond well to males who tried to control her. “Let me go!”

  “You’ve been crossing into my pack’s territory for days. Why?”

  There was no answer he’d like and none she could afford to give, so talking wouldn’t help her. Nothing would help her, except looking for an opening to escape and taking it.

  “Who else is with you?” he persisted.

  No one. No one for a very long time.

  He pressed his face so close to hers that she stilled. His scent soothed her like a balm—strong, all-male—and she wanted nothing to do with him.

  Delilah pushed against him, but his hold was solid, though not threatening, not like the white wolf’s had been. This shifter held her with just enough force to restrain her. Even so, given what had happened less than an hour ago, she couldn’t help the slight whimper that escaped her lips.

  The shifter didn’t react, didn’t even ease that stone-cold expression of his. Her pulse quickened as he suddenly leaned in, dragging his nose so very close to her skin, along the path of her neck, scenting her. He took his time about it too, as if he wanted to learn every nuance to her scent.

  A rush of excitement shot through her, waking every nerve in her body, catching her off-guard. She found herself learning her head ever-so-slightly to the side, almost as if she were offering her neck to him. Against every instinct in her body, she straightened her head, denying him the access he’d sought—the access she’d started to grant. The low growl coming from him struck her on a primal level, making her nipples harden and her eyes seek out his. Whatever was happening here with him, she wanted no part of it.

  Delilah struggled, pushing against the male shifter, her need to escape waring with her wolf’s desire to submit. He secured his hold on her, now pinning her with his entire body.

  Hard chest muscle pressed against her breasts and legs, as his hard length pressed against her belly. Her breathing hitched. It wasn’t his reaction that surprised her, but her own. Given the position she was in, she should fear this male, fear being totally under his control, but she didn’t. Male shifters took what they wanted, and he left no doubt about what he wanted.

  Then his nose wrinkled in disdain. His hand eased and slid from her neck, only to dip beneath the neck of her sweatshirt. With a single finger, he traced along her collarbone. A tingling traveled through her from where his skin met hers.

  Hard as it was to do, she ignored the sensuous touch. The shifter had given her the opening she needed. Delilah drove her forehead into his face as hard as she could.

  “Fuck,” he said, as he grabbed his bloody nose.

  Delilah drove both arms up and pushed him back. Before she could shift and run, he grabbed her by her left shoulder and twisted.

  She cried out as the pain drove her to her knees. Her skin ripped open where her wolf had worked so hard to knit the deep gashes and bite.

  The shifter shoved her down on her back and straddled her, securing both of her arms in one of his large hands high above her head. Then, without warning, he sliced the sweatshirt on her left side, exposing her shoulder, arm, and part of her chest.

  “Touch me and I’ll bite your balls off,” she ground out.

  Blood was dripping down his nose. His scowl sent a shiver through her, and not the good kind. She had pushed him too far.

  “Be still, female, and let me see your wound,” a rough voice said as he carefully peeled away the torn sweatshirt.

  Delilah stilled. She didn’t understand why, except there was a calmness to his voice, no threat or hint that he intended to assault her. Large fingers ran down the jagged edge of the claw wounds that had r
e-opened. Blood was flowing freely, though it was slowing.

  “Who did this to you?” he asked, a clear growl underpinning his words.

  “White wolves,” she said, astounded that his anger was not directed at her, but at whoever had harmed her.

  “Plural. More than one?” Amber eyes flared. She could smell his rage now. His very contained rage.

  “Five,” she said, all too aware of how heavy her breathing had become, and not simply from fighting him. Her chest was heaving, and she wore nothing except a boring white bra and a shredded sweatshirt.

  The shifter scented again, going lower toward her thighs this time. Her entire body tensed.

  “I won’t harm you,” he said. “Unless you give me a reason.”

  He’d be the first, then, if she could believe him. She had yet to make up her mind about that. Being a lone wolf was dangerous, not that being with a pack had been much better.

  “Let me go,” she said, her voice shakier than she had intended. The fight, her wound, her narrow escape earlier from the white wolves... Everything had finally caught up to her and all the emotions were threatening to crash in on her. She needed to stay strong in front of this male.

  What she wouldn’t give to kick back with her sister at home, turn on an old movie, and polish off a bowl of popcorn together. Those days were gone. She was alone now. Alone, but not helpless. The second the shifter turned, she’d run.

  “Answer my questions, and then I’ll consider releasing you.”

  “Touch me and you’ll regret it.”

  He raised a brow, but then he released both of her hands and rose. A show of good faith? Or was he simply daring her, so he’d have an excuse to pin her again and do whatever the hell he wanted to her?

  “Your name,” he demanded. Those swirling amber eyes of his never left her.